


Panic

by pawsdash



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Anxiety, Comfort, Dissociation, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Panic, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Triggers, noodle is a mom, russel is the best
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-28
Updated: 2018-03-28
Packaged: 2019-04-14 00:02:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14123739
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pawsdash/pseuds/pawsdash
Summary: Murdoc's panic attacks are different than Stuart's.





	Panic

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, all! So I really haven't properly introduced myself or anything so I supposed I would put a note in here kind of as a disclaimer. I know most of my drabbles or whatever-you-call-them deal with/are going to deal with some heavy stuff. (save for smut) That's mostly because I use this as a coping kind-of thing. I used to just keep them private until a friend encouraged me to put them out there. So the perspectives in my writings and interpretations, especially of mental illness, are not supposed to be accurate to what everyone experiences. I, like most writers, can only write from what I've experienced and therefore I don't claim my writing to be applicable to, say, all people with a panic disorder or all people who experience dissociation. I try very hard to only write on touchy topics that I'm comfortable with and have knowledge of personally. I'll always put the "touchy subjects" in the tags so that if you're triggered by something such as descriptions of panic attacks etc etc, you'll have a warning to let you know. If you have a tag that hasn't been included, let me know and I will add it! Thank you all for reading and supporting my writing!!

It was fairly easy to soothe Stuart during a panic attack; the tall man had become accustomed to the shortness of breath, the dizziness, the chest pains. Typically, it was Murdoc who would lead the other away from any crowds, though somedays it was Noodle or Russel. Murdoc would most often find a washroom, flicking the lights off as to prevent an impending migraine that often accompanied the waves of anxiety. He would find one of Stuart’s Ativan which he kept in his pocket and would coax open his mouth, slipping it under his tongue and placing a hand on his jaw to assure that he wouldn’t spit it out; he knew how much Stuart hated the taste of the pill dissolving.   
Stuart could be easily comforted thereafter by slipping headphones into his ears and turning on some music- even The Fall was a good choice for ambience. Murdoc would sit down somewhere, perhaps on the toilet seat or the counter, and allow Stuart to sit down on his lap, running a hand over his spine, down, up, down, until his breaths came slower. They didn’t speak much, almost as if it were a ritual that they had become overly used to. It was subconscious, like breathing or driving a car. Once upon a time, Murdoc would have sent an elbow into Stuart’s ribs and told him to man up, but he had certainly grown softer in his old age- and had certainly grown soft when it came to Stuart.   
Slowly and surely, Stuart’s brow would soften and his shoulders would come down from around his ears. It was fairly easy to soothe Stuart’s panic attacks; but Murdoc was a different story.

It began with breaking up a fight. Murdoc’s drunken quarrels with party-goers weren’t an odd occurrence in the slightest- however, this early they were. Murdoc had hardly been at the disco lounge with the other band members for a half hour before he had excused himself from his half-drunken bottle of beer to escape to the bathroom. Then, it was only minutes before a glass shattering broke the steady hum of chatter and music. This was nothing to be alarmed of, of course, but the band members’ idle banter was stopped cold when the yelling began from somewhere near the back of the lounge. A loud, angry Stoke accent.  
The crowd around the scene had begun to clear away by the time the three had pushed through the masses, people wide-eyed and staring at the two men who looked poised to fight. Stuart’s height gave him an advantage over the other members and he caught a glimpse of the picture first. His blood went cold. It had been a while since he had seen Murdoc this angry- but it wasn’t truly anger which made his stomach flip; it was instead the fact that Murdoc’s fist shook by his side, that his eyes were far too wide, and that his breaths were shallow and laboured. A swing, a miss, then a hit.  
Almost in tandem, likely from having been in similar situations, the band members pushed through to the clearing, Russel hurrying to pull the stranger off of Murdoc. Whoever it was went away kicking and spitting curses, not seeming to take well to the intervention though his friends gratefully retrieved him. Both Stuart and Noodle gravitated immediately toward Murdoc who was doubled over and gasping for breath. When he eventually straightened, Noodle was relieved to see that Murdoc had only taken a light blow to the cheek that would only likely develop into a bruise. Stuart’s focus was on his lover’s condition rather than his physical state.  
“He’s not well,” was all that Stuart said. Murdoc’s eyes were focused somewhere far away, distant and cold. His pupils were dilated far too wide, fingers finding the back of Stuart’s shirt and fisting in the material. Noodle seemed to regain focus at Stuart’s words and a wave of realization washed over her, nodding to Stuart as if in wordless agreement. “I’m gon’ get out of this crowd, I’ll text you.” He promised quickly, not waiting for a reply before he looped an arm around Murdoc’s shoulders and pushed back through the crowd.  
The washrooms likely wouldn’t be any less crowded, judging by the business of the lounge on that particular night. Instead, Stuart managed to weave both of them through, not without a fair share of stares from those they passed, to an emergency exit. Thankfully, he realized, the door led out into an alleyway out back rather than to a populated area. He pressed his shoulder into the door, the frame giving way easily to a dusky and muddy space. It was surely not ideal, but Stuart supposed that it would have to do.  
“Hey,” he murmured, voice gentle now that they had escaped the booming music, though it still vibrated the wall which he gently urged Murdoc to lean against. “Hey, Muds, y’alright?” His palms grasped either of Murdoc’s shoulders and his deep black eyes stared straight into Murdoc’s panicked ones, though the dimly lit alley didn’t seem to reveal much of anything. It was apparent, though, that Murdoc’s panic had sent him into somewhat of a dissociated state, with his movements completely still besides the trembling beneath Stuart’s touch.  
Stuart had only been in such a situation a few times before; it wasn’t often that he was witness to such states. When Murdoc would become unstable nowadays, he would hide himself away rather than make much of a scene- of course, he still made plenty of scenes but they typically weren’t associated with panic attacks. Murdoc had something that Stuart didn’t which was a healthy dose of dissociation and trauma which he preferred to douse with alcohol and self-medication. Sobriety hadn’t accounted much for this.  
“Muds, can y’look at me? Look at my eyes, ‘right?” Stuart coaxed, breathing a sigh of relief once the man responded and shifted his gaze to the man’s face. “You’re safe, ‘kay? Nobody’s here except you an’ me, love.” His hands slid down to grasp Murdoc’s which were cold and clammy. Even so, he opened up the fists and pressed them to his own cheeks, guiding them under his own palm. “See? D’you feel that? I’m right ‘ere, just me.”  
The darker, green-hued hands slowly began to move of their own accord, past Stuart’s ears and over his wild blue hair. Stuart allowed for a relieved smile to grace his lips, recalling time and time when Murdoc had eased his nerves by toying with Stuart’s hair. It seemed to calm him in some way, twirling the strands to distract himself. They could be in a meeting, in a crowd, and Murdoc would snake his arm around Stuart’s shoulders, subtly combing his fingernails through Stuart’s hair. To be honest, he didn’t really enjoy it much; but it grounded Murdoc and that was all he wanted.  
“ ‘m sorry,” Murdoc managed, barely a mumble if not a whisper. Though his gaze remained far away, his expression held something close to terror. Stuart felt his stomach doing flips in his gut- he realized that Murdoc had quite significant childhood trauma that he couldn’t begin to comprehend and still, it hurt him just as much as it hurt Murdoc when the memories would resurface with his panic. The man’s long fingers curled almost painfully in Stuart’s hair and they trembled though he visibly attempted to regain his composure. “… b-broke the glass.” He forced out. “ ‘m so sorry.”  
Stuart’s eyebrows narrowed over his blackened eyes in an expression of pain and he reached out a hand to touch the other, to brush his hair from his eyes or to cup his cheek. Almost immediately, Murdoc flinched, heels kicking as if to back up. His breath hitched when his back hit the brick behind him, face draining of colour. Stuart’s reaction was immediate, stepping away from where he had been blocking Murdoc’s exit and allowing space. He thinks he’s trapped.  
“Muds?” Stuart ventured, inching forward just slightly. He moved in a slow, gradual way with arms held up in surrender. Like he were approaching a wounded animal. “Muds, it’s alright. You’re safe here.”  
Murdoc seemed to come-to at that moment, tensed fists which braced the wall behind him softening. He opened his palms, felt the rough surface behind him, and squared his shoulders. Stuart almost thought for a moment that the man would pace away, grin, ask why Stuart wore such a long face, and go back into the lounge with the same suave confidence that he typically carried himself with. But, no. Instead, he sunk down, not appearing to notice that the ground held filth and mud. He pulled his knees up to his chest and hid his face, stilled and breathing.   
“Muds?”  
…  
“Murdoc?”  
….  
Stuart stepped closer, seeming relieved once he realized that Murdoc wasn’t flinching with his every move any more. He allowed for his long legs to carry him close, scrunching his nose as he slid down to sit next to the other. It was an unpleasant feeling, the mud and grime seeping into the seat of his pants. He forced himself to shift his attention, instead turning so that he could gaze down on Murdoc’s form.  
“C’mon, talk to me,” he urged gently, reaching a hand out to touch the other’s shoulder. When this gained no reaction, he slid it further down his arm and laced their hands together, giving an affectionate squeeze. “I love you,” he whispered, nudging their shoulders together in an almost playful manner. Again, no reaction.  
With a sigh, Stuart allowed for his posture to loosen, his free hand urging Murdoc’s head onto his shoulder. The man complied, almost limp and exhausted from the previous moments of intense panic. Stuart craned his neck to see that Murdoc’s eyes were indeed open, but looked off somewhere distant in an expression of dejection and shame. Stuart pressed his lips to Murdoc’s forehead, then to the back of his hand. He opened Murdoc’s palm, tracing his own fingers over the darker-hued ones in a soothing manner.  
“ ‘m sorry,” Murdoc mumbled- though this wasn’t like his earlier lamentations. These words were soft, shameful, far more genuine. His hair had fallen in a curtain over his eyes so that Stuart couldn’t easily see his expression. He didn’t have to see, though, or ask to know what the other was apologizing for.  
“No,” he whispered back, leaning his head against Murdoc’s and continuing to trace shapes into his clammy palm. “Don’t be sorry. I panic all the time.”  
“ ’t’s different,” came the reply. And of course, Stuart knew that. He knew that more than anyone else that Murdoc could name besides those who had caused him the trauma in the first place. He considered saying ‘I know’ or ‘I’m sorry’ but he didn’t.  
“I love you,” He said instead, eyes half-lidded as he looked down at their hands. “I still love you, Muds, nothin’s gonna ever change tha’. I still love you.”  
There was a long pause, just the sounds of breathing and traffic somewhere far off to fill the silence. Neither of them moved, just sat in the peace, in the temporary hiding place.  
“I know, Stu-pot.”  
And Stuart smiled because at least he knew.  
At least he knew.


End file.
